


Passive

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Haircuts, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kogami’s fingers slide across the back of Makishima's neck, curl under the trailing locks of hair he hasn’t bothered to cut off; the friction feels good, the drag of Kogami’s touch pressing heat into Makishima’s veins." Kogami decides a haircut is important and Makishima gets briefly philosophical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyFiamma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/gifts).



“This isn’t that important,” Makishima says, his head bowed forward over his lap and his eyes shut. “It’s just hair.”

“It is important,” Kogami tells him, his voice hitting that stubborn wall of resistance that Makishima has never yet been able to overcome. “The way you leave it it looks like you don’t care.”

“I don’t.” Kogami’s fingers slide across the back of Makishima’s neck, curl under the trailing locks of hair Makishima hasn’t bothered to cut; the friction feels good, the drag of Kogami’s touch presses heat into Makishima’s veins. He lets his head hang forward, leaves the effort of supporting it to the tension along the back of his neck. “If I cared I would cut it myself.”

“I care,” Kogami says, flat with complete sincerity. There’s the drag of metal against Makishima’s skin, the slide of scissors fitting under the longer strands of his hair; when Kogami closes them Makishima can hear the  _snick_  of the edges on each other, the sound so prototypically that of a haircut that it makes him smile.

“You waste your time caring about unimportant things,” Makishima tells Kogami, leading them into the pattern of an argument so worn-out all the unresolved edges of it have turned to soft familiarity instead of grating aggression. “We have such a limited span of existence, don’t you want to spend your valuable time on the important things?”

“Who decided this was unimportant?” Kogami’s hand slides against the back of Makishima’s neck, collecting the weight of another lock Makishima missed in his last haircut. It can only very generously be given the name at all; Makishima didn’t have scissors, last time, so the entire process was more a matter of dragging the edge of a knife through fistfuls of hair until most of it was reasonably short. It served its purpose, which is all it needed to do at the time, but Makishima admits there’s something soothing about the feel of Kogami’s skin against his, about the focused care with which the other is snipping the weight of long strands off the back of his neck.

“I did,” Makishima says, easy in the weight of responsibility the words grant him. Kogami’s fingers trail across the back of his neck, seeking out any lingering strands; Makishima can feel the catch when he finds one, the gentle tug as Kogami winds the lock around his fingers before slicing it through with the scissors.

“That’s pretentious of you,” Kogami tells him, as if Makishima didn’t know that, as if he has any interest at all in feigning humility he has never felt. “Deciding the importance of things in the world all on your own.”

“It is,” Makishima agrees. Kogami’s fingers push up from the back of his neck, ruffling into the irregular weight of the hair over his scalp; the sensation is soothing, like wind catching the strands or a wave breaking across Makishima’s skin. “Who better to decide than me?”

“You don’t have the authority to make those decisions for everyone,” Kogami tells him. The metal of the scissors slides over itself, a slick click of edge-on-edge, and Makishima hums soundless vibration in his throat, an unvoiced purr of pleasure at the arrhythmic sound. “People need the freedom to decide what’s important for themselves.”

“And they waste it,” Makishima says easily. When he tips his head Kogami’s hand slides sideways, dragging through the pale strands loose over his ear as if Makishima is urging his touch down deliberately instead of just leaning into the contact. “If people voluntarily refuse their right to choose, that freedom is left to anyone to abuse. Including me.”

“You’re wrong,” Kogami tells him, but his tone is light, unburdened of any attempt to actually sway the other from his rationality. They both know perfectly well there’s no real fight here, no true debate to be had; they’re just going through the motions, falling into the pattern as if into a dance, as gracefully as if these are physical maneuvers they are making and not mental ones. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else does or doesn’t do.” A  _snick_  of the scissors, a flutter of hair drifting through the air to land at the shoulder of Makishima’s shirt. “You only get to make decisions on your own behalf.”

“Aren’t you making decisions for me right now?” Makishima teases, still with his eyes shut as Kogami trims at the edges of his hair. “It’s only because you think this is important that it’s happening at all.”

“That’s different,” Kogami tells him, stilling the movement of the scissors as he ruffles his fingers through Makishima’s hair again. “You’re letting me do this.”

“Exactly,” Makishima says, and risks moving, tilting his head back as he opens his eyes to smile up at Kogami. Kogami looks faintly exasperated, his eyes dark with the suggestion of frustration over the perpetual shadows of exhaustion that cling to his lashes and carve lines at the corners of his mouth. Makishima smiles the wider, reaches up a hand for the other; when he stretches he can set his fingers to the back of Kogami’s neck, can curl his hand into a hold along the top line of the other’s collar. “Kiss me, Shinya.”

Kogami’s eyes are still shadowed when he leans in, his mouth still hesitant to curve into a smile to echo Makishima’s. But his breath is warm, his lips are soft, and when Makishima arches his neck back and purrs appreciation against Kogami’s mouth Kogami parts his lips without urging, making an offer of the heat of his mouth even before he licks gently against Makishima’s lower lip. Makishima can feel his hair falling strangely light against his scalp, the minimal weight of the longer strands absent after Kogami’s scissors; the thought makes him smile against the other’s mouth, makes him purr satisfaction even before Kogami’s free hand comes to settle against the back of his head, to catch and brace the weight of it while Kogami presses heat over his lips.

Makishima lets him.


End file.
